


Seven Princes, Reluctant

by ryma36rpm (katzenjammerd)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Gen, pre-book release
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4286634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzenjammerd/pseuds/ryma36rpm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A pre-HBP story. I have no idea who the Half-Blood Prince is: I decided my seven most likely suspects. By the time this is posted, we will all know, which should make it funny or foolish."</p>
<p>Quotes and Lyrics from e.e. cummings, Sylvia Plath, Radiohead and Phoenix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Princes, Reluctant

**\- 1 -  
**   
  
Dean Thomas  
  
  
_How she longed for winter then! -_  
  
  
Dean's mother doesn't believe the letters at first. Understandable, given the somewhat surreal nature of them, even with Dean's mysterious ability to shift the vicious dog from Number 20 up a tree without even moving.  
  
  
Magical grammar schools, though, were never on her radar. What's he going to learn, how to pull rabbits out of a hat? She notices they don't send any indication of the fees. The twins are starting school in September, and Johnny thinks this is all a prank. Obviously, she's supposed to get Dean to conjure the money out thin air.   
  
  
He keeps looking at her for a response, careful to gauge her mood. He can barely keep the excitement out of his eyes. He starts to talk about how, with people there like him, it might be easier to make friends. They won't think he's mental, like they do at school now. And with that, her heart breaks. She's his mum; she knows what to do. Smiling up at her son, she tells him to make good use of his magic, and stick on the kettle.  
  
  
Johnny thinks Dean's father might be behind this - a nifty way to get custody after walking out all those years ago. She can't bring herself to agree, not even to quell an argument. Johnny's possesive about Dean, doesn't like the thought of the real father moving in on his spot.   
  
  
But this.  
  
  
This just isn't Michael.  
  
  
She thinks on Mike, something she hasn't done in years, and remembers all his fantastic stories. She used to tell him to write all his stories down and he'd make a fortune. She glances down at the list of textbooks and uniform requirements. Pewter cauldron, size two, Christ. Stories are less fantastic now, she thinks dryly.  
  
  
It creeps up on her, this memory. A hazy weekend morning spent with him, the light barely breaking through the curtains, his fingers tracing down her spine. He must have thought she was asleep, his voice was so low, whispering 'and of all this I am king.'  
  
  
She shivers.  
  
  
  
**\- 2 -  
**   
  
Severus Snape  
  
  
_a man who had fallen among thieves_  
  
  
\- 1977 -   
  
  
He blames his parents most of all. The should have been the ones to tell him. They should have taken him to one side during the holidays and broken the tale, not Dumbledore confirming suspicions about his heritage. Hints and allusions do not count as telling, and he's one person who likes subtleties.  
  
  
They don't have the money to rule. No amount of magical expertise can halt time, decaying and mocking. The big house gone to rack and ruin a generation ago, ivy creeps a mocking dance among the ruined outer walls.   
  
  
He went back a month ago. He won't return.   
  
  
Relics of paintings of ancestors crying out amid the moss, sobbing and pleading to be torn apart rather than suffering this indignity. The staircase has finally fallen asunder, losing the battle to the ferns. The brambles, oh god, the brambles. A thicket blanketing the white ballroom, masking where the throne should be. He cuts a path through them. No saintly white rosemarks his rightful spot, and he's almost relieved. No prince can rule without a throne. He's turning when he spots the rhododendron bush, bustling away in faint purple under the grand fresco of Salazar and Godric's Great Pact.  
  
  
He flees the hall.  
  
  
It burns bright that night. He reassures himself that this is the right thing to do, escaping from this is the easiest option, the only option.  
  
  
When he meets Rodolphus to make arrangements about entering the circle, the smell of soot is on his clothes.  
  
  
He can't return  
  
  
  
**\- 3 -  
**   
  
Remus Lupin  
  
  
_This is what you want,_  
This is what you get instead.  
  
  
Deep down, Remus always knew he would be the one to mess it up. His noble heritage. Less noble it seems now that it's been tainted. Born to rule society, but unfit to live in it.  
  
  
The crown is the least of his worries, he thinks, nursing the torn, infected ligament. He knows what happens to wizards and witches infected by werewolves.  
  
  
They doesn't know if he can go to school now. His mother thinks that he might be able to, if Dumbledore realises he's of the Merovingian bloodline. 'He'll know it's important that someone like  _him_  goes through Hogwarts,' his mother pleads, her French accent slipping through in her desperation.  
  
  
He doesn't really want to go to Hogwarts anymore. Not now. In fact, he dreads it.  
He always felt a prince would be alone, even in crowds of admirers. With absolute certainty, he will now be alone for the rest of his life.  
  
  
"What's so important about a royal line anyway?" he asks his father, who just looks shocked at such rampant republicanism in the Heir.  
  
  
He had felt, at some point now long faded in the crisis, that perhaps he could deal with this secrect royalty lark. That perhaps there might be an unexpected happiness, lying hidden amongst all that responsibility.  
  
  
He knows now.   
  
  
Remus knows there are no happy times ahead..  
  
  
  
**\- 4 -  
**   
  
Seamus Finnegan  
  
  
_for if you're young, whatever life you wear_  
it will become you;  
  
  
Seamus has lived near enough to Eamhain Mhacha to suspect the truth. His mother's from Tyrone, and cackles about the pains of Ulstermen when Seamus acts the maggot. For the record, he has no intention of going into battle and having to experience labour pains for his trouble, thank you very much, no matter how many times Potter stirs up a fight with the forces of evil.  
  
  
His father claims he thought Seamus's mother was just ecentric, which was adorable. The subsequent knowledge that his wife knew a magic spell that was called Crucio, and another spell that could force him do her bidding made the whole shenanigans far less adorable, to say this least.  
  
  
Seamus suspected it, but would never allow himself to believe it. Until the time his mother brought him up to the actual Hill at Tara, and casually mentioned that they were related to that last inhabitants there. His father and he exchanged glances, and not for the first time Seamus felt his father must wish he had just married that solicitor from Navan town rather than this Dungannon hippy.  
  
  
He likes Harry Potter, but not all that much. He and Mam explained the whole 'You-Know-Who' history to his Da, and later Potter's great and many spa attacks all through fifth year (alright, so that was just him) but his Da wasn't really interested and snickered every time they called the Dark Lord 'You Know Who.'  
  
  
His ma never stated explicity what exactly being a prince entailed. He has terrible visions of becoming the Meath version of Prince Charles, lecturing peasants on GM food, and architecture. All she would ever say on the matter is that it is a privilege to be part of the royal blood line, and rarely are they called upon to defend their realms. In times of peril every prince in the western isles of Europe gather together to effect a magical army. Seamus and his mother ignored the shout from the living room from his father rustling his newspaper, claiming that if the Wizarding royaly were similar to 'ordinary' European royalty, they couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery and the Wizarding World was well f-.  
  
  
Seamus didn't say it it to his mother, but considering all the crap that has occurred at school  _every single year_  since he started, he's going to have to side with his father. Royalty is no guarantee of success.  
  
  
  
**\- 5 -  
**   
  
Camillus Tonks  
  
  
_you shall above all things be glad and young._  
  
  
Camillus has always known his mother's family were nutters. The egos involved in naming your family after stars and galactic nebulae aside, (and Camillus is glad he escaped  _that_  one, though he'll be the first to admit Camillus isn't much of an improvement), the whole pure-blood lark was enough to ensure that whatever sanity there was died out in the rampant inbreeding. He doesn't like to think of it too much. He just knows there's an alternative, apocalyptic world out there where dozy Dora has been forced by Great-Aunt Black to marry that Malfoy runt.  
  
  
The scarlet phoenix feather floated onto his desk half an hour ago.  
  
  
It must kill the Malfoys and the Lestranges that after all the disinheriting lark that went on, they couldn't take this away from their sister. Quite frankly, he's amazed that he's survived this long without a discrete Avada Kedava, or even a frantic stabbing-by-wand. And this Harry Potter thinks he has troubles; at least his relatives aren't trying to off their eldest nephew.  
  
  
An empire fashioned from nothing, rewarding him with nothing but an ominous future. There's very little he can do about it at the moment, and Mother and Moody and Dumbledore think that it's best he remain in the Muggle world for the time being. He doesn't mind - he has another term left at university and it would be a shame to leave when Oxford is so beautiful this time of year, and a backlog of 'to read's'  and the boat race is next month, so he really can't possibly go any time soon. Why he's finally got around to starting Brideshead Revisited.  
  
  
The thing about the Wizarding World, claims his father, is that it's always in some crisis-point dither. Following mad cults like You-Know-Who (this would be the second time now), when they should have learnt their lessons from Grindlewald, and Ronibaldi before that. Camilius once suggested to Dumbledore that you can't save people who then throw themselves back onto the train-track. Of course, the thrust of his argument got slightly lost when he had to explain his analogy to the old codger.  
  
  
Camillus likes his life right now. He most certainly doesn't not feel any inclination to rejoin the Wizarding World, where he will most certainly be pursued by his mad aunts and their equally loony friends, not to mention their (undead) master, and be forced to fight in a desperate attempt to defend the wizarding world from itself. It's all very unpleasant and he doesn't see why he has to get dragged into all this post-Grindlewald angst.  
  
  
This crown he bears won't ruin his life. He glances down at the feather, crimson and accusing. No need to answer it now, he thinks, as he grabs his coat. He's plenty of time to nip down Cornmarket and into the Golden Cross for a quick pint with Jeremy and Singe.  
  
  
No harm in delaying the inevitable.  
  
  
  
  
**\- 6 -  
**   
  
Argus Filch  
  
  
_No alarms and no surprises_  
  
  
Argus hates Albus Dumbledore. He's not even sure it's a secret at this point. Locked away in this hell-hole of school, faced with brats like the Weasley twins, under the pretense of safety.  
  
  
"All the better for us to protect you, Argus" Albus reminds him, his kindly tone mildly patronising.  
  
  
Argus loves the 'us' part.  
  
  
He has a cat, who loves him, and ... well that's all really. He holds court in a back office in Hogwarts, overlooking the graveyard holding all those headmasters and mistresses and teachers, and miscellaneous students.   
  
  
He's already picked out a place in the graveyard for Albus.  
  
  
No doubt Albus has picked out place to return the compliment, couched in kindly, aspirational terms.   
  
  
A out-of-the-way place, next to that oaf Hagrid, is the proper resting place for a Prince of Wizards with no wizarding power.  
  
  
Perhaps next to the mangled corpse of that Potter boy, once Voldemort and Albus have finished with him, with all the other expendable victims. They could have their own corner,  _Pawns of Dumbledore, RIP._  
  
  
Argus owes Albus his life, and he doesn't ever think he can forgive him.  
  
  
  
**\- 7 -  
**   
  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
  
  
  
_The things I do possess,_  
sometimes they own me too  
  
  
When Albus was six, in a fierce temper, he reached up and cracked the sky. It rained inky black for ten minutes His parents turned from Aberforth and realised that he was the one.  
  
  
It's a forgotten title. But those of learning know of it's importance. He used to catch Headmaster Dippet glancing at him curiously, as if he expected Albus to whip out an orb and sceptre and admit to breakfast assembly that he was indeed the heir to the Vieux Magicus, a Magi of the Most Ancient Order, descender of Authur, son of Llew Llaw Gyffes and Blodeuwedd, child of Oisin and Niamh, son of Olaf the Mystic, heir to Charlemagne, Conqueror  & Rex Europa.  
  
  
Only four of the titles apply to Dumbledore, to his knowledge.   
  
  
He has always known the costs, the burdens of his crown. He cannot reign while the Pretender stalks the fields of Albania, and now Little Hangton.  
  
  
So he lies in wait, and waits on his knight to face the task at hand. Harry is less lovable at 15 that he was at 11, being more prone to alternate bouts of sulking and shouting to the alarm and irritation of, well, everyone.  
  
  
He knows what is needed to be done to bridge the magical and non-magical world, to defeat these immortality chasers. Harry is the key to restoring the power, to fit the pieces back in where they belong. Albus just can't bring himself to move that piece. He's never been a chess player and he's fumbling with the weapon.  
  
  
Love and paternal feelings trump a military campaign anytime.  
  
  
\- end-


End file.
